


count your blessings not your sins

by RenderedReversed



Series: this ain't no fairytale [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fluff, Item Shop AU, M/M, Recettear AU, Tom Has Issues too, adventurer!Tom, best read in series order, he's better at hiding them though, shopkeeper!sorcerer!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 13:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8534773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenderedReversed/pseuds/RenderedReversed
Summary: The Birthday Conundrum: how do you tell someone your birthday is coming up, without sounding like you’re asking for a present? Harry’s answer (given, it’s to a slightly different question) is simple: don’t ask, don’t tell. In which Tom accidentally shoots an arrow into the dark and skims a bullseye, and Harry is quietly thankful.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [count your blessings not your sins - считай свои добрые дела, а не грехи](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14907185) by [Silwery_Wind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silwery_Wind/pseuds/Silwery_Wind)



As they say, “Another day, another galleon.”

Harry sits back behind the counter, pleased as punch as he compares Hedwig’s General Store on opening day and Hedwig’s General Store now. The constant flow of customers has decreased a little after peak hours, but the level of traffic is still quite respectable.

People don’t stick around too long—it isn’t like it’s a clothes store, though he does sell some basic wear—but they are buying things. It’s a point earned for Harry; that means he’s stocking what they need. It helps that many of his customers are adventurers (though he isn’t sure why), since he knows exactly what they look for on a quick shopping trip.

One of said adventurers approaches the counter. Harry sits up, puts on a smile he hopes is friendly, and says, “Welcome. How may I help you?”

“Hello. Do you do appraisals here?”

“We do,” Harry replies. His specialty is in magical items, but there are few monster drops he can’t identify, either from familiarity or extrapolation.

The female archer places something on the table. “My party picked this up in a dungeon. No one knew what it was.”

With a quick glance, Harry recognizes it. “It’s a fossilized boulder heart,” he says, picking it up. It’s still got some weight to it, which is good because that means it’s still usable. “They’re from Volcano Crabs—the unfossilized versions, of course.” He stops there because he sees the adventurer’s face light up in recognition.

“I’m interested in selling it,” she says. “How much can I get for it?”

It’s poor quality as far as fossils go, but as for an ingredient—Harry does some mental calculations. “I can give you two galleons for it.”

She frowns. “Only two…? That’s a little disappointing. Volcano Crabs are pretty hard to kill,” she hints—as if Harry doesn’t know. If he really wants fresh boulder hearts, he’s perfectly capable getting them himself.

Still, he says none of this. “It’s broken here, see?” Harry replies, and points out the jagged crack running along the back. “You’re right that boulder hearts can be used for many things, but unfortunately, this is only a fossil, so that drastically reduces its potential as an ingredient.”

“Oh, I see…”

“The best I can give you is two galleons and…” he pauses as if he really is trying to give her the best deal possible, “…six sickles.”

The archer nods. “That’s fine then. I’ll take it.”

Harry pays her properly and bids her a good day. The adventurer leaves smiling, as if she had been the one to reap a profit. In reality, she’s a hundred years too early trying to swindle him. _Ha, maybe next time_.

He didn’t exactly lie to her—fossils really don’t make good alchemic material. That’s obvious; alchemy is best with fresh or purposely dried ingredients. Fossils don’t make the cut. However, Volcano Crabs are incredibly hardy creatures, and their hearts share that aspect. Boulder hearts decay very, very, very slowly, and the weight of the fossil implies it isn’t finished decaying at all.

They’re also an exceptional ingredient, by both definitions. It isn’t common knowledge, but boulder hearts aren’t good fresh—well, they are, but it isn’t when they’re at their peak. The best hearts are those that have eroded away, leaving only the parts where their magic is at their most concentrated. That way, there’s less of a chance that bits of the heart will remain in the product.

 _It’s the little things_ , Harry muses. That’s what sets apart a good alchemist from an expert alchemist. If he uses the boulder heart carefully, he could probably make twenty or thirty times what he bought it for. Merchanting is much more emotionally rewarding than blind murder, go figure.

“Hello.”

“Hello, miss. Grocery shopping today?”

His next customer smiles a little. The woman is as close to a regular as Hedwig’s can have at this stage; she doesn’t try to get unreasonable bargains, is unfailingly polite, and sometimes comes by with her daughter to buy a few trinkets. Harry knew he liked her the instant he saw her walk in with her kid, exaggeratedly swinging their linked hands.

“Not today,” she says. A children’s book slides onto the table— _Fairy Tales and Other Fairy Things_ , it reads. Harry looks over his counter to see her daughter smiling tentatively.

“It’s my birthday today,” she says.

“Is it now? Happy birthday! How old are you turning?”

“Five,” the child says, holding up three and one fingers. Her mother pats her head and she does a quick recount. “Oops,” she mumbles. “There—five!”

Harry smiles back. Kids are great. “You like to read?”

“Mhm! I want to be a magician when I grow up. Mommy says they read a lot of books. My friend says they’re boring because they stay inside all day, but he’s wrong!”

“Oh?”

The little girl nods vigorously. “Yeah! Some go out on adventures! Like the Master of Death! He goes out and fights monsters, and always saves the day!”

Her mother laughs a bit. “He’s her favorite adventurer,” she tells Harry, and it turns his smile bittersweet.

Taking a phrase from Tom, these two “don’t have a magic bone in their body.” Her mother knows, and maybe there will be disappointment in the future, but for now she wants her to dream. Harry can respect that. He’s here now thanks to the dreams he had as a kid. Dreams give hope, even if they’re silly hopes that won’t come true—dreams teach how to hope, and hope, unlike other survival tools, isn’t sold in a general store.

“He’s a hero!” the little girl insists. “Some people say he’s bad though. My friend thinks he’s scary, but he helps people! It says so in my book.”

That one gets him off guard. “Does it really?”

She shuffles her feet. “Um, well, nooo…but if he wasn’t there, all the other heroes would’ve died! Then they all went to defeat the evil wizard, um, Rac-Rac—”

“Raczidian?”

“Yeah,” she smiles sheepishly. “Him.”

Harry grins. “Well, I guess that’s true. Heroes are heroes because we think so, not because other people say they are. One galleon and three knuts, please.”

The woman unclasps her purse and pays him. Harry passes back the book to her daughter, as well as something extra.

“It’s a birthday present from me to you,” he says, exaggerating a whisper. “Keep it secret, yeah?”

The girl gasps and nods, clutching the glass fairy figure in her hands. “Okay! Thank you, mister.” She tucks it reverently into her pocket for safe keeping, as her arms are otherwise occupied with her book.

Her mother blinks in surprise. “Oh, thank you so much. You didn’t have to…”

Harry smiles. “Oh no, it wasn’t much. Thank you for coming so often. Have a good day.”

They bid farewell, and Harry watches them go.

 _Birthdays, huh?_ That reminds him, his is coming up—July 31 st. Harry thinks back. When he was little, there wasn’t much he could do other than draw a cake in the dirt, but as the coin started to roll in from his adventuring jobs, Harry started the tradition of buying himself something nice as a birthday gift to himself.

It’s usually just a little thing that’s pricier than his normal purchases, nothing much. He could’ve afforded it on any other day, too, but it makes his day feel a little more special than it would’ve been without it.

The adventuring life is transitory. As many friends as he’s made, no one’s ever around long enough to know his birthday, or give him a present if they do. The last time he’s celebrated his birthday—Merlin, it must’ve been ten years ago, with…Cho.

All of his previous cheer is gone in an instant. He doesn’t want to think about Cho. He doesn’t want to think about the woman who smashed his heart and spit on the pieces, who betrayed him and made him wonder if something was inherently wrong with himself for a good number of years after. Sometimes he still feels like he’s not enough, not good enough for someone to care about or be happy with.

He feels wholly inadequate enough to recognize that it isn’t normal. Logically, Harry knows he can blame adventuring, and he knows Cho is a big a factor as it can get, but it isn’t easy to connect what his mind knows to what his heart thinks. It’s been ten years, and he’s still struggling.

He’s twenty-seven, for Merlin’s sake! He shouldn’t still be dealing with this. Cho is gone, probably dead, and if he sticks around in Gryffindor district long enough, running Hedwig’s as he wants to, maybe he’ll have someone else to celebrate his birthday with. He hates how Cho holds that in monopoly, hates how she holds a lot of places still.

Harry suddenly thinks of Tom. He imagines Tom is there leaning over his shoulder, the light from his birthday candles illuminating them both. “Make a wish, Harry,” he’d say, and Harry would scowl and smack him on the shoulder, maybe, because he’s too close, and why is he standing? Sit down, he’s a guest! And they’d eat it together, that birthday cake from the bakery down the street, moist and delicious and definitely not dirt.

It would be nice, Harry thinks, if he doesn’t have to be alone this year.

Common sense returns. No, even if he’s spent a considerable amount of time with Tom, he still doesn’t know the man well enough yet. He can’t just go telling his private information to everyone he meets—even if he doesn’t think Tom is bad, the fact remains that he’s the only one who knows the owner of Hedwig’s General Store is a sorcerer. Harry won’t risk someone connecting the dots.

His kindness gets him into enough trouble. If he doesn’t exercise a bit of prudence every now and then, he wouldn’t have been able to live ‘til now.

Harry sighs and begins to wipe down the counter top with a wet cloth. Closing time is too far away.

* * *

“I brought a cake,” Tom says in lieu of greeting as he strolls in. As usual, he completely ignores the prominently displayed CLOSED sign posted on the door. Harry swears up and down he had locked said door, but apparently not.

“Cake?” Harry blinks, startled.

“Cake. It’s from that bakery down the street you were eyeing yesterday,” he replies. “I thought we could eat it for dessert.”

…There are several questions Harry wants to ask. First, who invited Tom for dinner; second, he was so not eyeing that bakery, where did he get that idea from; third, how did he get in because now that he thinks about it, Harry totally locked that door. He always locks it when he changes the sign, because—ironically enough—then he doesn’t have to wonder whether he locked it or not.

“What flavor is it?” he asks instead.

“Coffee.” Tom tilts his head when Harry wrinkles his nose. “Something sweeter next time, perhaps?”

“I like sugar, sue me.” Suddenly, he remembers the fruit sitting on the counter in the kitchen, waiting to be washed. “Nothing a few strawberries can’t fix, I guess.”

“You don’t like coffee,” Tom states, a tad incredulous. “At all?”

“Give me sugar or give me death,” is Harry’s solemn reply.

“No one is stopping you from adding sugar to your coffee,” Tom argues. Then he adds, “Heathen.”

“Honey goes in drinks,” he amends. “You put honey in tea. You don’t put it in coffee.” Somehow, insanely, for whatever the reason, he goes back to cleaning and ignores the fact that Tom invited himself over for dinner, and brought a cake.

“I figured you would’ve liked the caffeine,” Tom says, walking through the threshold between Harry’s shop and house. His voice grows muffled, but Harry can hear it just fine. “What do you do on late nights, steep your tea in a pot of honey?”

“I drink hot chocolate, actually,” he says. It’s a bit of an embarrassing confession. “An old mentor of mine loved sweet things,” he explains quickly, “and I picked it up as a habit. You know how these things go—habits, don’t even notice them until you’ve been doing them for a couple years. And, well, there wasn’t any reason to stop, so—”

Harry hears some rummaging through his cabinets. It’s probably for plates, he thinks.

“Is that why you keep a stash of sweets under your counter?” Tom asks.

Harry yelps. “Hey! How do you know about tha— _no_ , that is not why—”

Tom laughs. He walks back out cake-less. “I’m not judging,” he’s saying, leaning against the wall to watch Harry work. “Though it isn’t what I expected. I always though sugar rushes were a myth. Never got them myself.”

“They’re snacks,” Harry defends. “Eating something keeps me awake better than caffeine.”

“And the hot chocolate?”

He sets the box down heavier than he has to. “I thought you said you weren’t judging.”

“And I’m not. Just curious. You really aren’t what I expected.”

“And what were you expecting?” Harry’s a little scared of the answer.

Tom hums. “A crabby, antisocial sorcerer who holes himself inside all day, and subsists off of coffee and willpower? Certainly not someone who reliably makes himself three meals a day, or hosts a guilty fangle for sweets.”

Harry spins around. “Was that a pun?”

Tom keeps talking, ticking off his fingers as he goes. “Someone dignified and confident, with no eyes for others and with good reason. Proud, because pride is a mark of a learned man; calculating and not easily pleased, with cheeks as cold and pale as stone—perhaps the target of a gorgon’s gaze once, but powerful enough to live to tell the tale. A man with plans, a scheme, some greater reason for being here than for the pure and utter delight of running a humble little item shop—”

“I can’t tell if you’re insulting me or not,” Harry interrupts.

 _Ah, there’s that smile again._ Tom waves off his concern. “You fall outside my expectations. It’s a compliment, if anything.”

“You’ll have to convince me of that, I’m afraid.”

Tom merely preserves his grin. “I bought us a cake, didn’t I?”

Harry feels tired. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help start on dinner?”

“I thought we could have dessert first,” he says.

Harry eyes him with due suspicion. “And why’s that?”

“Come now; there’s no one else here. I know you can finish the rest with magic.”

To prove him right, Harry casually waves his hand and everything falls in place. The tables are cleaned in an instant with not one spot missed. “If you’re so insistent, let’s eat cake then.”

Tom hums, pleased. They move to the kitchen where, true to his prior prediction, the cake is already cut and two slices are set on two plates. Though it is coffee flavored when Harry takes a nibble, it’s sweet enough that he doesn’t mind it.

“Are we celebrating something?” he asks carefully.

Tom shrugs. “Not really. I did get a star today, I suppose, but that’s par for the course.”

Harry blinks. Adventurers earn stars that represent trustworthiness, strength, or recognition from a high-profile quest. Tom had previously said that he had an adventurer ID card before, and considering his prowess it probably had five stars at the very least. So it’s true—one star must mean very little to him, and yet…

“Congratulations,” Harry says. “The cake’s pretty good.”

Tom’s lips curve into a smile. “Everything you dreamed of?”

Harry returns it. “Something like that.”

He pretends, just for a moment, that it’s a dual celebration. _Happy early birthday, Harry,_ he thinks, and makes a wish.

**Author's Note:**

> shit i love these two so much, help them.
> 
> btw how many of you thought Tom somehow magically figured out Harry's birthday? Tell the truth! :P He really doesn't know, and really just wanted to celebrate something with Harry. Isn't that just the cutest?! Fffff.
> 
> This might turn out to be "mfw you realize your platonic crush is actually not so platonic after all"

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [count your blessings not your sins (podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9668489) by [MTKiseki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MTKiseki/pseuds/MTKiseki)




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